


Gintama Folklores

by sunfish_sunfish



Category: Gintama
Genre: Completed, Multi, both common and uncommon ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfish_sunfish/pseuds/sunfish_sunfish
Summary: Will be publishing several folktales/ fairy tale with a Gintama twist on them (all one shots, AUs). Open to suggestions for the origin story as well as pairings/ characters for each! The pairings/ characters and genres for every story will be listed at the top under the author note. (also please disregard the character setting as it is bound to change from story to story)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello! This is based off an ancient Japanese folktale "Tsuru Nyobo" (although it deviates from it a bit). HijiMitsu, tragedy & romance. I do not own Gintama nor this folktale, all rights belong to their respective owners. Thank you for reading!

Snowing. Drifting, lilting, and then the fall. Snow is the blanket on babes that steal away their breaths in their sleep. The pure magic that lull the scissors into cutting the strings too soon.

A silence reverberates down the valleys, through the forests, above the mountains, into the hearts. It booms with the deafening of nothing, the nothing that echoes so in the world of the living.

A broken piece of the snow, a tainted stain on the snow, a frozen crane upon the snow. Downy and gentle wings ripped apart savagely in a hunter's trap and the smooth wings rupture into a break of bones. Pain meshed through feathers as the bird is crushed in the raw net. A scarlet shadow lies below.

 _Snip_. The crane sloppily tumbles out, a disheveled mess of cracking wings, sticking legs, choking feathers, into his arms. He gathers her together. Wordlessly, he lifts her, light as light, and trods his way back to his hut through the clogging beauty.

Days, weeks, months, seasons. The plum blossoms drift into dappled sunlight and into blazing star-fire momiji as the crane is nursed by the raven. But no matter how many times he breathes back life into her by day, she remains frail the next, the pale feathers withering into more silver slivers of softness, that small glow of life fading into more blanks.

He traces the delicate wing with a faint touch, wincing as a few more feathers spiral to the ground. The crane rubs her crown upon his cheek, fluttering as a few more smiles grace his face. A sigh escapes the wind, bitter with the coming of winter, sweet with the coming of deathly, embracing cold.

At night, the silent moon glows, moonshine pooling in every crevice and over every surface. He knocks the slide, he wants to see her, to touch her, to love her, but when he enters, only a kimono and scattering feathers remain. Only a thanks and memories remain.


	2. The Snow Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! This one is based on a Gintoki x Sacchan about Yuki-onna or Snow Woman. There isn't just one story about them so I kinda took a few here and there, added stuff, and this came out. First fanfic about humor and romance (although it becomes kinda angsty at the end… sorry) and about Gintoki x Sacchan. Thank you for reading!

_Snowing. Drifting, lilting, and then the fall. Snow is the blanket on babes tha-_

"Oiiii, stop stealing from chapter one!"

_-t steal away their breaths in their sle-_

"Are you even listening to me?"

_-ep. The pure magic that lull the scissors into cutting-_

"For the last time soy bean addict-!"

"Gaaah, will you just go away Mayo freak, not everyone gets a little romantic fanfic like you do, give someone else the spotlight damnit! I want to have a romantic story about me and Gin-san! I want to have multiple stories of love posted all over about me and Gin-san! I want to have the ultra-popular ship couple between me and Gin-san, damnit!"

She shrieked hysterically and  _swoosh!_  out came shurikens from who-knows-where-or-rather-the-place-where-she-keeps-personal-profiles-of-her-beloved-Kyaa!-Gin-san. A blizzard whipped up as her laser-beam intense eyes glowed.

"Oi oi oi, what's happening here."

One word and the howling wind calmed itself. A familiar nose-picking, gorgeous beau squinted at her.

"Gin-saaaaaaan!" she screamed, hurtling herself towards him in a way that would make every fangirl proud. He smoothly dodged the human bullet as it impaled itself into a wall.

"Ah look, it's the Mayo."

"...The way you say that is vaguely insulting but at the same time I don't hate it."

"Well-"

"Nooo! Stopstopstopstopstop! This is a Gin-san x Sacchan fanfic, not HijiGin! Out out out." And she thus pushed him, who was vehemently protesting, out of this fanfic chapter.

"W-well then Gin-san! Whatever shall we do today?" She brushed off her hands and smiled sweetly at him. "Perhaps this and that, or that and this, or maybe even-"

"Aaah, no. How about no. Forever. No. And first off, where the hell are we."

Gintoki suspiciously peered around at the seemingly blank space.

"Hmm, I think this is a fanfic Word document Gin-san," she nodded, expertly pushing up her glasses Midorima-style.

"Huh, I see, that would make a lot of sense…"

"Yes, ye- Agfuh!"

"Uh, no, why the hell are we in a Word document?!" He karate chopped her head. "And what the hell, you, a Snow Woman?! That's as far as saying a soybean is like a strawberry or some weird crap like that!"

Sacchan winced, although the stupid curly hair never saw it. The wind began flickering its wisps. Her mouth was the smooth, deceiving smile beaten into her from childhood training.

"Gin-saaaaan, hurt me some more!"  _If I don't say this, he would never look at me. This was his fetish right?_

"Hell no you creepy freak!"

"But, but there's nothing else to do in this world except to expand our love!"  _What a hopeless romantic, get real._

He drew a disgusted face and grimaced at her. "Why would I ever love you?" He turned away with his arms crossed, nodding, "Yeah, my type is  _totally_  different; I'm out for girls who have no glasses, no soy beans, and are  _actually_  cute." He emphasised actually with a severe look at Sacchan. "Like the shy schoolgirl kind, like y'know, Sawako or, well, Tsuku-"

She grasped his hand and pulled him around roughly. "Eh?" Her lips smacked full on his. "Mmf?!" The sweetness of parfait and strawberries and sunshine tainted the cool freeze of her own, life draining, bluing lips. They parted, a hasty breath hissing between them before she embraced him tightly again. Lust uncoiled slowly, powerfully, like an awakening dragon with flames of passion in its belly.  _I don't care, I don't care, make me like Sawako then, just so that my feelings can reach him, reach him!_  His numbing lips slowly began to respond to hers.  _I don't care if you're thinking of someone else, just, just-! Let my love reach you, know of it! Reach him!_

When they finally pulled apart, he was staring at her with the wide eyes of the inexperienced. She felt smug satisfaction as the realization of his stolen first kiss dawned upon him.

"Wha- But-!"

"Humph, so inexperienced, like a little school girl who's read yaoi for the first time at home while drawing all the curtains shut and covering under her bed sheets. Please, you should know…"  _She gulped, a sudden wave of nausea as she felt suddenly insubstantial, like a pile of dust._ "Y, you should that my love is worth far more than any person's in Gintama or anything. That even when your words slash me, I still love you for them and it hurts. It  _hurts_  but it's you and that's just love and it's… you. I love you Gin-san. I love you…"

Her tears and smile froze into droplets of ice, shattering into a thousand shards as her body melted away in the return of first love.


	3. The Willow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! This is a response to a request for OkiKagu based on the Willow Wife Tale. Romance and tragedy. I'm really sorry that I write so many tragedies/ angst… Thank you for reading! All rights for Gintama are with Sorachi sensei and the only thing I own is this story. (warning: slightly ooc)

sparkling in its benevolent beams. Furled leaves circled down and began their journey downstream, little boats in the wide, wide world.

The busy hustle bustle of the streets was muted under the calm of the tree, the soothing calm embracing those who would accept. He laid back, at the foot of it, in the cool shade, where blades of grass swept and caressed his side. His eyes fluttered shut…

When he was rudely jostled back to waking again, the sun's last light was trickling through the leaves, dripping them with a crimson. One of the town elders was by his side, shaking his cane in annoyance, barking at him to leave so that the tree can be cut to make a bridge. The young man leapt to his feet in protest, arguing that the willow, that who had provided centuries worth of shade and a place for the children to play, mustn't be torn down, and offered other trees himself. The elder reluctantly consented. He limped away.

The young man placed a hand gently on the soft bark, a rare smile glowing his expression as the first stars began to alight the sky, stories of the ancient. He turned away but then saw, to his shock, a girl sitting up in the tree. Petite pale feet flying through the air, she sat on the highest branch. Her robe shimmered with the hues of jade serpents, emerald dragons. The vermilion hair sailed in the air and the ultramarine eyes sparkled with mischief.

Without a word, she focused her eyes upon the jewelry box of the night, the diamonds strewn carelessly on the now velvet black. He, who understood the depth of silence and nothing as more than silence and nothing, gazed on with her. And come the break of day, the melodies of the sparrows' cries and the crystals upon the grass, she gazed a second longer at his sweet sleeping face before disappearing like a wisp of mist.

And then day by day, night by night, the two watched the stars move, the stories change, their hearts warm. The silence melting into sparks of words, of hopes, of friends, of maybe even something more. The willow hid them away, away from tragedies, sorrows, death, and misery, curtaining away something that might grow into something forbidden.

One night, when the silver ringing of laughter had faded, the girl stood. With a wide grin, she dramatically announced a grand, grand gift, and he watched her with something between amusement and curiosity. She reached above his head then, and, carefully, snapped a branch above him. She paled instantly and trembled slightly, but he didn't, couldn't, notice as the overwhelming fragrance of grass and wood, of sunshine and dewdrops, hit him. He felt himself go dizzy.

She drew away, her parlor somewhat back again. With a smile, she placed in his palm the willow branch. He looked at it questioningly and looked back at her questioningly, smiling uncertainly. She laughed a tinkling laugh, tinged with the hue of the sadness in knowing. And then, for the first time since he had set his eyes upon her, she touched him; she cupped her hand tenderly on his cheek, holding him there, capturing him and time there, staring into his eyes. He held his breath, unable to breath, bewitched by the spell of her eyes, like sea foam helplessly pulled farther and farther into sea.

He subconsciously clasped his own hand over hers, gently, never letting go of those eyes, and they twined together. Her breath became trapped like his as they drew closer, closer, mesmerizing…

And then they let go of each other. They covered up their vulnerable hearts with the usual masks and then they bid each other farewell, promising each other, as always, to meet again under the willow tree.

When the young man awoke, something was wrong. He leaped from his house, dashing towards the willow tree.

In horror, he watched axes hack, hack, hack at her, the bark chipping off, the branches ripping apart, the tree screeching as it agonizingly careened to its side, the piercing scream of pain and loneliness. The elders were nodding, agreeing that such a fine tree would be fitting for the emperor's new temple he was constructing. That such a fine tribute would bring good fortune to their lands for centuries to come. The young man crumpled to the ground, bowed, defeated, ragged scars gorging into his heart, bleeding sorry, sorry, sorry.

And the wind sighed. But no leaves responded anymore.


	4. Sleeping Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! This is a request for sleeping beauty with Katsura and Kagura, comedy and maybe romance? I'm not very good at comedy but I tried what I could. Thank you for reading!

Once upon a time, long long ago, King Gorilla and Queen Elizabeth were celebrating the birth of the child that they had long wished for, hoped for, sacrificed countless bananas and flipboards to the gods for. They invited seven fairies, the godparents for the newborn girl.

The first gifted the child with beauty, claiming that she will be only, just slightly of course, uglier than the fairy herself and that she will always be welcomed as a cabaret gal.

The second gifted the child with wit, claiming that she will know the true path to happiness by knowing all the different species of mayonnaise.

The third gifted the child with grace, claiming that she will move with all the grace of strawberry parfait and the sweetness of sugar.

The fourth gifted the child with dance, as was required in Yoshiwara even for the Hyakka.

The fifth gifted the child with song, claiming that she will know the true dictator of the universe as Otsu-chan.

The sixth gifted the child with music, claiming that she will know the true power of cardboard-box-guitar-street-playing and how it is better than Otsu-chan, thus inciting a fandom war in the background.

The seventh withheld his gift, preferring to screw up another fairy's gift later, although preferably the second one.

The eighth fairy, with a lack of presence more so than the fifth fairy and Kuroko combined, was thought to be dead or doing badminton or something and King Gorilla and Queen Elizabeth did not bother sending a letter. In rage, he cursed the child with obsession of anpan and a lifetime of anpan addiction.

The seventh fairy didn't mind screwing up the eighth fairy's curse so his gift became an obsession with tabasco instead, for a lifetime. Queen Elizabeth threw him out before the spell completed.

But anyway the girl, whose name was Zurako, grew day in and day out, becoming the single most beautiful, talented, and sweetest (in many ways) woman in the entire kingdom. Her bellowing laugh drew all the gorillas, far and wide, who admired her gorilla-gorilla ness and karaoking of Otsu-chan. Flashing that glossy black hair, down her back and down her legs, she was every man/ gorilla's happily-ever-after. (...Maybe.)

One day, upon reaching the joyous age of sixteen, Zurako declared herself free and no longer a child. She daringly walked into the pantry that night, when all others were asleep. With a trembling hand, she creaked open one cabinet, the one cabinet that was forbidden to her among all others, the one cabinet that contained the curiosity of a lifetime.

The cabinet of the Anpan.

Clear and smooth, more beautiful than any,  _every_ , mother of pearl, lay one, single, anpan. Zurako held it gingerly and the moonlight shone upon it like a magical opal. Her eyes sparkled in enchantment, admiring the perfect roundness, the perfect chestnut color, the perfect softness far greater than any banana she had ever eaten. And then, without heeding all the warnings that she had ever heard, she foolishly took a bite.

She dropped with a flop, the anpan ominously rolling from her hand.

That morning, the castle flew into alarm at the fallen princess until they saw, with horror, the bitten anpan. With a gasp, they fell back until the king and queen themselves flew into the already crowded pantry. They immediately summoned the seventh godparent, who was feeling lazy and so hired the third to go instead.

The third fairy, with a brilliant sense of prophetic powers, solemnly declared that princess Zurako will remain asleep for one hundred years. He proposed that he can put everyone to sleep and preserve them for as long a time so that if she awoke, they would wake up with her. However, unless a prince charming came to give Zurako true love's first kiss, they would all sleep forever. The king and queen quickly conceded to this idea, placing their daughter in the highest room of the highest tower. They then nodded to the fairy.

With a flick of his wand, the third fairy instantly put them into a one hundred year diabetic coma.

He also added some thorny strawberry bushes around the castle to protect it. He then took one last glance at the sleeping castle, the beautiful princess, the now-sacked treasury, and left with a sorrowful sigh. Wishing that there was more than just bananas and flipboards in the treasury.

One hundred years passed. One sunny day, a dashing prince with flaming red manbuns rode up to the castle on his shining white dog-steed. He gazed upon the enormous twining vines with wonder. Without wasting another second, he roared with his umbrella and dashed through the barrier.

He blinked as they magically drew away from him but he continued into the castle. He swarmed up the flights of stairs to highest room of the highest tower. And then at last, he reached it. In a magnificent bed, complete with a silk veil, lay the princess. Prince Charming edged towards the bed, anticipation rising. He drew back the curtains.

Inside was a beautiful raven-haired princess.

The prince slowly closed in on her sleeping face and gently brushed her cold lips.

Instantly, the princess blinked awake, her eyes dazzling warmly. She reached out, a slender and pale hand, towards the prince's cheek.

"Oh my fateful love, so dearly brought forth to me… my heart is only yours." Her finger slid to his mouth before returning and she nibbled on something. "Yes, Anpan, I love you so, how I have missed you."

The prince stared at her blankly, vaguely remembering how his lunch was anpan, before punching her in the face and promptly leaving.


	5. The Peony Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! This is based off "Peony Princess"; Hijikata x Otae, romance/ angst. Again, these one shots all originate from a folktale but do not follow it exactly. Thank you for reading!

blossoms of the Peony trembled in the summer air. Lacing the midnight with a delicate aroma, light wisps trailing in the wind, the petals blushed pink as soft puffs swayed them.

The princess watched them listlessly from the castle. Nightingales trilled and chortled their nightly serenade but she heard none of it, only watching the flowers. The thick hedge of peonies outside waved together in the wind. But a sudden sharp gust tore away the petals at once, swirling them upward to the moon, as the proposal from a Lord Nobunobu fluttered in her clenched hands.

Emotionlessly, she reread it again, her apparent marriage that was decided in a day to the richest noble in Japan. She nodded to herself; a secure marriage seemed to have been made. A blessing that she should be grateful for many times over for. Wealth and prosperity to her family, honor and pride. And yet…

She shook her head at her naivete for true love, ebony strands of hair flying about. She bitterly smiled as one of the petals fluttered before her, only just one show of beauty's short death.

Stifling a sigh, she gracefully rose to her feet. A flicker of indecision. And then, with a glint of scorn, she threw aside the letter. She shed off layers of the overbearing kimono, as overbearing as her demanding father, until she was left with only a loose yukata. The princess leapt out the open slides and fled into the garden of peony.

With a relieved laugh, she smiled as widely as unacceptably possible in the royal court, and certainly unacceptable for the wife-to-be of Lord Nobunobu. She spun upon the soft, untrodden grass on her bare feet until the world was spinning faster and faster without her. She collapsed and a huff of satisfaction escaped her heaving chest. After a brief rest, she rolled over and over until streaks of grass stains were smeared all over her beige yukata.

The princess then approached a small lake in the garden. It was dark but shone like black glass, the pale moon wavering in the watery surface. Lilies floated like dignified snow castles and frogs croaked and cicadas joined the choral of summer with the frogs and nightingales. The princess peered over the edge. She then hopped onto the trail of rocks that eventually lead to a small island in the center. She bounced onto the next. And the next. And the next.

But finally, she erred and her foot slipped on dark moss. The princess yelped in surprise, hands flailing frantically in thin air, before a firm grip pulled her to her feet. With a gasp, she managed to twist and catch a glimpse behind her. A young man with jet black hair and silvery ashen eyes was all she could see before the person disappeared, leaving her alone on the rocks in awe.

After that night, the princess succumbed to a grave illness. Her father called every doctor, anxious to fix the princess before the marriage day. But each shook their head, not finding a single ailment. Of course they wouldn't. How could anyone see the guilt of a loyal daughter, who had fallen for the wrong man? Where is the scar in that? Where are the scabs, where is the gushing blood, where are the lumps, where is the bruise? But no one can fully see the crushing of the heart, not even the victim herself.

At last, the king begged the handmaidens of his daughter for any information at all. Each shook their head sorrowfully except for the girl closest to the princess. She reluctantly spoke that the night before the sickness had struck, she had heard a yell and looked outside. The princess was by the pond and in the arms of an unknown samurai. He then magically disappeared. The maid bashfully apologized, saying that she did not want the princess to be punished.

The king was astonished, for his castle was heavily guarded each and every hour. He mumbled something to himself before leaving to attend to his duties.

The day of the wedding came and passed, the princess in no state of marrying. On a particularly muggy afternoon, the handmaidens decided to call for musicians. The king himself sat among them, with various other house members, to listen to the trailing melodies plucked from the lutes and zithers, the shrill cry from the shakuhachi flute.

Suddenly, several of the maids gasped and pointed behind the musicians and into the gardens. There, all could see, a man donning a stormy blue yukata. Searching, piercing cinder eyes gazed into the castle from behind the peonies until he found hers. Their gaze met, fixed, timeless, until the last note dissolved in the air and he dissolved away with it.

All held their breath until the king stood abruptly. With steely, cold eyes, he walked to the hearth and snatched a flaming log.

"I know the source of the sickness. Demon. You have been the source of her pain."

He threw the fire on the peony beds with fury.

Immediately, the princess shrieked and bent over, tears streaming down her face. A torrent of flames were licking up the bushes, devouring them and burning the peonies into nothing but ashes, ashes, ashes. The crowd beheld the scene in horror.

At last, the flames died down and the princess's agonized cries fell into silent tears. The handmaiden gingerly stepped out into the garden. She returned, grimly reaffirming that not a single peony was left.

That night, the princess wept, coughed, shivered, and sneezed. Her illness had only taken a turn for the worse. The handmaiden knocked on the slide before quietly entering. She watched her lady's shoulders quiver with an unfathomable expression before kneeling before the princess and nudging her. The princess blearily looked up and then her face went slack. In the handmaiden's hands was a small peony.

The handmaiden smiled quietly at the princess's astonishment. The maid carefully placed it in an empty bowl, poured in water, and let the flower float in it. The petals were slightly burnt on the borders but the gentle pink still graced the blossom. The princess held the bowl close, overwhelmed with gratitude when she looked back up at her maid.

Then gradually, day by day, the princess's health improved as she constantly cared for her peony. Strangely, though just a head, it never wilted and smiled upon her each and every dawn. She brushed its petals affectionately in return, even though it was just a flower.

Finally, the day came for her wedding once more. The princess sorrowfully gazed upon the peony, still blooming. And then she turned away, the veil closing down on her, the heavy cloth weighing upon her, the family responsibility dulling her, and the last peony wilted and died.


	6. The Selkie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! I wrote this based on the legends surrounding selkies. It's technically Gintoki x Tsukuyo but I think it could work for many other pairings, especially since my description of the people is rather vague…
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter!

When the high seas calm, gray frothing waters gone, when the longest day passes, the shortest night reached, the seal-folk are said to be called ashore. Below the moon of summer solstice's night, a selkie, sleek and shiny, smoothly slides upon the pale crystalline sand. Her pelt melts into a cloak as her feet touch the land. Graceful and beautiful, she begins to dance with the blessing of the silver.

She discards her cloak, as selkies do not know the shame of men, and dives into the sea. She gasps for air and then laughs, a sound echoing the strange caverns of the deep. She shakes her golden mane of dripping hair, arcs of water showering. Kind and gentle eyes, that which can soothe the most raging thunders, sparkle.

Trapped in the prison of land, a single fisher hides, watching the ethereal fae in enchantment. As though bewitched, he steals across the shore and snatches the selkie's skin while she plays among the waves, stealing and snatching her heart.

And then, following her heart, the selkie glides before the fisher, who blushes furiously despite no longer being a little boy anymore. She cocks her head, a questioning smile flitting across her expression innocently. The fisher gathers his wits together and vows his love towards her, promising her a life of happiness and light until death do them part.

And each day is filled with such joy, such light. Despite their clashing differences, they live in harmony for many years. But then slowly, gradually, a change, a shift, begins. The compassionate face of the selkie becomes forlorn, her heart pining for the lull of waves, the cries of seagulls, the freedom of the sea. The fisher, who had hidden the cloak, watches in horror as her complexion grew paler and paler, her hands frailer and frailer, her laugh quieter and quieter, until it became naught but a sweet breath.

At last, the fisher realizes that they had reached the border of paradise's garden. One dawn, before he set off to sail and fish, he softly places the magical cloak beside her sleeping figure. His rough lips graze her cheek quickly before he leaps out, something akin to brine in his eye as he dashes towards the open arms of the ocean.

When the selkie awoke, she blinks in open astonishment at the cloak before her. Her hand eagerly reaches for it, the sea in her blood calling out to her desperately with its invisible siren song. But her heart tore when she thought of her heartbroken lover, alone. Her eyes harden with decisiveness. She flings her seal-skin into the hearth, watching the flames devour her seal spirit and immortality. Hearing the wails of the agonized ocean fade into the crackle cackle fire.

She spends the rest of the day in the glory of summer's return; the waltz of the butterflies, the dapple upon the clovers, the sweet sway of thistles and honeysuckles. The melodies of blackbirds and wrens spiraling and weaving the air. The enticing and delicate fragrance of sky-blue harebells lacing through the wind. Her world was splendid and needed none other than her love to complete it.

But the puffs of sleepy lambs slowly became herds of enraged rams. Harsh, fat droplets splashed and splattered, thunder a roaring dragon flashing its gold tipped tail. The woman looked out, fear and worry finally pushing her to run, run across the flooding fields, run before the lightning-burnt tree, run towards her raging and grieving mother.

The sand slides away beneath her feet as crash after crash, waves slam into the feeble land. The woman dives into seething, roiling surges. Her lungs crack, her arms flail, but she swims on, farther and farther into the sea, until land became but a green silk string.

_Where is he?_

But still she went on and on, bitterly wishing.

_Where is he?_

Wishing that she had never burned her skin.

_Where._

Wishing that she had seen her lover's face one last time.

_Is._

Wishing that she had never met such pain nor met such joy.

_He._

Bitter regret swam long after her body returned to only one cold embrace, the harsh and immortal warning among all selkies.


	7. The Memories of a Butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! I'm sorry I haven't been updating, I've had a lot of writer's blocks recently… Anyway, this is another HijiMitsu (with a hint of KonTae, if you will). This is based off a folklore called The White Butterfly but again, I've changed up a couple details. Angst/ romance. Thank you for reading this story!

A cool breeze weaved through the columns of cypresses, sweeping away strands of graying hair.

The old man paused to catch his wheezing breath as he finally reached the top of the stone stairs. He then trudged forward, heaving with him the sloshing bucket of water, clenching the blossoming bouquet of snow-white lilies. One step, two step, three step, he dragged himself forward before the dangling iron bell of the shrine and his breath finally gave way.

He had caught pneumonia.

He lay in the cotton sheets, fever and delirium spiraling higher and higher with each passing, smoldering summer day. His former chief and his wife rushed over from Edo, themselves already so much frailer and weaker than in their youth. They desperately tried to lower the climbing fever but nothing could help. Nothing would help.

Such was his fever that he could almost see, feel, a butterfly resting on his chest everyday, wings beating as slowly as his own heart. Otae gently convinced him that no, it was an illusion, there was no butterfly, but what could he believe when he was already sleeping in his own deathbed? Why should he care when there was nothing to care for? Let him live in the delusion, let him live in the fantasy, let him live as one of the insane, he would soon die anyway.

And this was true for in three days, the elder man had passed into the unknown oblivion.

The summer sun blazed on, life bleaching away under its flames. Cicadas shrieked, tears dried, the world moved on.

But a pale saffron butterfly flitted up, glided through the winds, and landed upon her gravestone, her duty now completed.


End file.
